Shades of Grey
by BlackRoseDragonCK
Summary: One-shot. "Please don't die on me..." Raiden prayed silently as he wheeled the cryopreserver containing George's ruined body. There had been no other choice...it was the only way. If only Raiden could convince himself of that... But, as many shades of grey as there were in this mission...there was one aspect that was in distinct black and white. Revengeance spoilers, friendship.


**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**

**Hello :D! First off, this has Revengeance spoilers. If you have not reached the first level of Denver yet and don't want to be spoiled, read no farther than this because I am about to make a spoiler comment to explain this fic. Sooo, the story takes place during (spoiler) the gap of time when Raiden takes John to Doktor after being forced to attack him. It features kind of a family-ish, friendship thing with Raiden and George and also leads up to his quitting Maverick. Anyways, hope you enjoy :D!**

**X**

"_Oh, God, don't die…please don't die on me…"_ Raiden prayed silently as he dashed through the metal-walled corridors leading to Doktor's laboratory, wheeling the large artificial blood cryopreserver.

The cyborg's heeled feet struck the floor so hard that he was certain he was leaving dents in it. Any moment, he expected the wheels to go flying off the strained pod. Frankly, he cared for neither of these things. He would fund flooring repair costs and carry the pod on his back if he had to. No matter what…he had to reach Doktor. Fast.

Electricity sparked from Raiden's black-plated body as he sharply rounded a corner. His charge's wheels screeched in protest. He barely heard the sound over that of his mechanical heart thudding in his ears.

It had been quite some time since Raiden had felt this rattled. A very real sensation of nausea twisted his innards and his clawed fingers trembled slightly. Normally, he was unflappable in any and all situations. But…then again…most situations he encountered in his job did not establish a personal connection to him. He was used to the gore and wreckage of a war-torn setting…but he couldn't bring himself to even glance at what was contained in the glass confines of the cryopreserver.

Raiden felt his hands begin trembling again. He could still hear the deadly whir of his blade as it had sliced through the air…the sickening snick it had made when it connected with its target…and with the one it had been unable to avoid striking. It was horrifying…but there had been no choice.

"There was no other way…" the soldier whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "There was no other way…

After what seemed like an agonizing eternity of running, Raiden finally came upon the door of Doktor's "lair". It was a mechanical apparatus with a control panel used for entering a pass code in order to enter. It was not for security purposes so much as for "keeping Dummkopf from barging in uninvited", according to Herr Doktor. Of course, the thing was only intended to stop human intruders. Raiden was only part human…and he was in no mood to waste time racking his brain for a password.

With a snarl, the cyborg drove his sharp fingers between the slit of the door and the wall. The metal dented easily beneath his mechanical, desperation-induced strength. Exerting minimal effort, Raiden tore the door from the wall and tossed it unceremoniously to the side.

The room within was shadowed. Only a few areas were lit with stark, bright lighting. Shelves filled with books, documents, tools, and other various pieces of equipment were stacked against almost every wall. There were several work tables scattered about, a few of them topped with the left cyborg hands Doktor so coveted. Lastly, a massive computer monitor took residence near a desk and office chair. In the pallid light of the screen…Raiden spied the one who owned the dark chamber.

Hailing from Germany, Doktor was a middle-aged man who looked as if he had never seen the light of day, His body was skeletally thin, his face constructed entirely of harsh angles. Grey-brown hair that reached down to the nape of his neck formed a circle around his skull, but left the top of his scalp perfectly bald. Think-framed glasses rested atop his sharp nose. They made his already acute gaze seem even more piercing.

As far as clothing went, the man wore a cleanly-pressed, collared shirt of a royal blue color and black pants. The pristine business clothing made his erect posture look even more ramrod straight. A rope with a turquoise pendant hung around his neck, adding at least one exciting detail to his professional clothing. As a whole, the cybernetic surgeon's appearance was put together with the intelligence and exactness that so prevailed his personality. Raiden was depending on those very traits to rectify his current situation.

Currently, Doktor stood next to his computer, gawking at the abolished doorway. "Mein Gott, Raiden!" he exclaimed in his thick German accent. "You know I had that door custom-made! You could have knocked first rather than destroying it! I swear, I have half a mind to develop a chip containing an etiquette teaching program and hardwire it into your brain, you Dumko…."

His rant trailed off when he spotted the grisly burden Raiden bore. He froze. "You…you managed to keep him…alive…"

"Yes," the cyborg replied with stiff impatience.

Eyes wide, Doktor stepped forward to examine the pod…and the ruined body preserved within it. It was George's body…the small form of the Guyanese child Raiden had been unable to avoid hitting when he took out that researcher in Mexico.

Raiden swallowed hard. He could still hear the pitiful coughing of the imprisoned children as they choked on chloroform. The sight of that heartless filth of a scientist holding a gun to George's head still scarred his mind.

_"It was the only way…"_ Raiden told himself again. "_I couldn't let those kids die…and a bullet through George's brain would have killed him instantly…"_

He thought these things…but he could not convince himself of them. "Please, Dok," the soldier said, his voice coming out hoarse. "You have to save him."

Doktor's eyes snapped to Raiden. He fiddled with his spectacles, looking uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" the soldier impatiently inquired.

"Well…we could equip him with one of the child-sized cyborg bodies…however, we would have to remove a vast amount of the frame since much of his original body still remains. It would be a tremendous waste of equipment and these child cyborg forms are in no generous supply. We still have…quite a few brains to outfit…"

Raiden's metallic jaw clenched. He knew without further questioning what the surgeon was trying to delicately say. It was a well-known fact that mass-producing the child bodies was going to be difficult and expensive. Many of the children were going to have to wait for quite some time before they were even assigned a body, let alone installed into one. Doktor had apparently noted Raiden's earlier concern about this…and was now wondering whether or not the cyborg saw fit to triage.

Raiden splayed his hand on the glass of the cryopreserver. "Give him a body, Dok," he ordered. "I'll help with the cost later on if I have to."

"Are you sure, Raiden? Once this is done, it cannot be undone…"

Of all the phrases that could have been used to describe Raiden, "long-suffering in times of stress" was not one of them. Raiden whirled toward Doktor with icy tension in his body and lightning in his gaze.

"I attacked a child, Doktor!" he snapped. "I broke his body and I intend to fix it! I have to!" His mechanical form quivered with every word.

Doktor took in the emotional outburst with no outward displays of surprise, save for a slight arching of his brows. He stared into the soldier's good eye for a long moment. Then, he gave a slow nod.

"Very well then," said the surgeon, taking the pod from Raiden's care. "I will begin work on him right away. Wait outside. I shall come to you when the job is complete."

XXX

Several hours of excruciating suspense passed. Raiden spent this time in the small waiting area near the operation room. Cyborgs scheduled for repairs, maintenance, or upgrades would often wait in this area. It was comfortably stocked with sofas, a small television, and several end tables stacked with magazines.

On this day, there were no other people present. Doktor dared not plan any long-lasting experiments during this time when everyone was scrambling to deal with the Desperado problem. As a result, the blonde-haired cyborg had the facilities of the waiting room all to himself. In spite of this…he indulged in none of them.

No…Raiden was in no mood to channel surf or skim periodicals containing the latest recipes, fashion tips, and celebrity gossip. Instead…he paced. His footsteps were loud on the obsidian-tiled floor, seeming like gunshots in the unnervingly quiet space. They probably weren't quite as loud to other people…but Raiden was more on edge than he had been in a long time. He was certain that the dropping of a feather would have made him jerk.

It wasn't necessarily George's condition that bothered him. Raiden had faith in Doktor's abilities. He was reasonably confident that the child would be all right. No…it was the action itself rather than the outcome that had him stalking about like a caged tiger.

He had been so determined to destroy that man…and he hadn't cared that an innocent bystander was being held as a human shield between him and his target. The soldier had asked George if he was truly willing to sacrifice himself and the boy had responded the affirmative. But…had Raiden been just a bit angrier…he questioned whether or not he would have bothered to ask at all.

A low growl resonated from the back of Raiden's throat. He pressed a hand to his heavily-armored chest. There was something in there…something scratching and clawing to escape. It was a sickeningly familiar sensation…one he had hoped to be long-since quelled. An acidic feeling burned within the deep recesses of his core…one that was reminiscent of that desperate brutality he had felt way back in Liberia.

Nausea built within the soldier's abdomen and he actually felt somewhat lightheaded. Bracing his hand on the arm of one of the couches, he lowered himself onto it. He rested his elbows on his knees, sinking his face into his hands.

Raiden couldn't let himself fall back into that nightmare. No matter what, he would never disregard the well-being of an innocent like that again. It was dangerous, not only for them…but for him as well. It reopened old scars…and poured salt into wounds that had yet to heal.

Raiden's claws dug so hard into his scalp that he was certain he would draw blood. _"No…"_ he vowed silently. _"…I won't let the Ripper surface again unless it serves to help those who can't help themselves. My sword…is a tool of justice. I protect the weak. I don't prey on them." _

The cyborg's thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. With a sharp movement, his head snapped upward. His eye flared red for a moment before he realized the identity of his visitor.

Despite the fact that he had just conducted an extensive transplant surgery, Herr Doktor was still as neat as always. Not a single wrinkle marred his clothing. An aura of satisfaction radiated from his thin form.

Raiden started to his feet. "Well?"

"The surgery was an overwhelming success!" Doktor smiled. "George is now stable and is sleeping off the anesthesia."

The cyborg's body sagged with relief. "Good…" he breathed, sinking back into the couch. "Nice work, Dok."

"Yes, I like to think that my expertise was not taken for granted during such a situation."

Brushing an imaginary speck from his shirt, the scientist went to sit beside his creation. "I am surprised that you waited through the entire surgery," he commented. "Has Boris not yet assigned your next mission?"

Raiden hunched forward. He rested his forearms on his knees, not meeting the man's gaze. "He and the others are still scrambling to deal with the kids. No orders from any of 'em as of yet."

He didn't voice the dark thought lingering at the back of his brain. The truth was, he had not bothered to contact Boris, Kevin, or Courtney. He even avoided talking to Wolf. He just…was not ready to face them after what had happened in Mexico.

Raiden could feel Doktor's eyes on him, taking in every detail of his figure. Ashen blonde hair…snow white skin…a single grayish blue eye…his other eye covered by the strip-like eye patch visor…a cybernetic body of sleek black metal…and his somber expression, all formed into a man that the surgeon had literally seen inside and out. Raiden had to force himself not to fidget. It was more than a little uncomfortable being scrutinized in such a manner.

Finally, Doktor spoke. "Raiden…I have been a seasoned scientist for many years."

"Really, I couldn't tell," the soldier shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. However, he knew that there would be more to the man's statement. He had been acquainted with Doktor long enough to sense "un lecture" approaching from a mile away.

Doktor continued, "No scientist, whether he is a fresh intern or a veteran like myself, can possibly hope to formulate a hypothesis about whatever he is studying unless he first makes observations and asks questions."

At last, the Raiden turned his head to look at him. He frowned, unsure of what any of this had to do with anything. "So…?"

Doktor's perceptive eyes searched Raiden's, as if seeking the answer to whatever point he was poking at. "So…I have observed that, on your missions, you have witnessed unsavory civilian deaths more than once. Yet, you managed to keep a level head, even while viewing such terrible incidents." He steepled his spidery fingers and leaned forward in a contemplative manner. "My question is this…What is it about that child that has you so…disturbed?"

The cyborg studied his creator for a long moment. He then sighed and turned his face away. Desperately, he wanted to weasel his way out of the uncomfortable matter…but Raiden knew better than anyone else that, once Doktor had something in his brain, he would never let it go.

Raiden ran one set of fingers through his pallid hair, drumming the other on his knee. Sharing his deepest thoughts and feelings like this was not his specialty.

He spoke huskily, "…When I met George…the first thing that struck me was how…energetic, how alive he was. The kid was living off the streets, yet…he was as lively as kids from functional homes. Most of the time when people see me, they get pretty freaked out at first. But George…he thought I was… 'cool', I guess." A small smile played on his half metal, half flesh mouth. "He wanted to be like me, even though he had no idea what that entailed. And…he trusted me. I could sense that from the very beginning."

Doktor tilted his head. "That established a connection with you? Why?"

Raiden sighed, hanging his head low. "George…" he swallowed against the coarseness in his throat. "…he reminded me…of my son."

There it was. The disconcerting truth that Raiden had not wanted to admit, even to himself. He drew in a gust of air and was unable to release it.

"Hmm…" the surgeon stroked his chin thoughtfully. Raiden tensed. "…likening a hostage to a loved on is a dangerous act of sentimentality for any soldier, human or cyborg."

The breath the warrior had been holding hissed from his mechanical lungs. "I know…it can be fatal, actually." His body was so rigid that he felt as though he would need oil to get his various metal parts moving again. "I forced the thought from my mind at the time…but I couldn't stop thinking about it afterward while I was wheeling away a child's destroyed body…"

Doktor was silent. Raiden shook his head, his jaw set in a grim line.

"Did I really do the right thing? Was it right to attack a single child so that many could be spared? That researcher back at the lab…that reprehensible, disgusting son of a…" the cyborg felt anger rising like bile in his throat and forced it back. "…when he dragged George in there, I knew the kid was doomed."

"And by attacking you saved him from death," Doktor pointed out.

"But I had no idea that he WOULD survive," Raiden shot back. "It wasn't until after I struck and realized he was still alive that I thought of the trick with the cryopreserver." He let out a heavy sigh, kneading his forehead. "That's what has me so torn. Was I right? Did the end justify the means? If not, then what should I have done? The doubts go on and on…"

Doktor said nothing for a long time. He was still hunched forward, looking slightly off into the distance as if mentally analyzing every aspect of the issue. Then, he let out a sigh.

"Yes…" he murmured. "Such problems do not have simplistic solutions. That is one of the ills of this industry. Not everything is in black and white. There are many shades of grey…many instances when it is nearly impossible to determine the 'right' answer. Other people might say you were wrong while a different group would swear you took the correct course of action."

Raiden chuckled mirthlessly. "'Other people'…in other words, people who weren't there to experience the moment. They weren't standing in that cold, gruesome lab, listening to a dozen little boys choke on chemicals behind them while staring into the innocent eyes of a child being held at gunpoint in front of them. It's easy for them to judge."

The surgeon gave a sad nod. "Indeed. Shades of grey, mein Freund. Shades of grey…"

"_And throwing John into the mix just made things more complicated,"_ Raiden thought but did not say aloud.

He stood up abruptly. This conversation was not helping him. If anything, it was merely reiterating what he already knew. There was one person, however, that he needed to talk to…someone who might help him decide his next move.

"Let me talk to George."

The surgeon looked up, startled. "Verzeihung?" he exclaimed. "But…he is currently in recovery!"

"Is he in pain?" Raiden asked.

"Well, no, but…"

"Then I can speak to him."

"Raiden, there is no guarantee that he will have regained his bearings enough to properly answer any questions you might have," the surgeon argued, his brow wrinkling.

The cyborg finally turned to face his "inventor". His silvery blue eye burned fervently. "Please, Dok," he implored. "I have to talk to George. I have to see him…so I can assure myself that I didn't just kill a little boy who reminds me of my son. I can't have that idea haunting me during my next mission…"

Doktor opened his mouth, undoubtedly to retaliate that Raiden had not killed George and was thus being illogical. He must have seen the desperation in Raiden's expression because no words came. His gaze softened. Sighing, he stood up.

"All right, all right," he said in a worn-down tone. "You win. Come with me."

XXX

Raiden had seen the inside of this room many times before. Stark white walls and pristine grayish floors surrounded him. Various snow-colored cabinets and counters stood about, their immaculate surfaces littered with silver trays, tools, and utensils. There were medicine cabinets filled with vials, convoluted pieces of machinery, sinks, robotic appendages, and various other items. As diverse as the objects were, everything in the room had one thing in common. They were all of a pale, sterile color.

Raiden stood near the door, blinking at the harshly bright lighting. He stuck out like a sore thumb with his cobalt-colored body. He cared nothing for that, though. The only thing that captured his attention…was the one other person present in the room.

George had been transferred from the metal operating table and was now lying on a cot. He was hooked up to several machines. A few monitors gave a visual graph of his vitals. They looked stable, as far as Raiden could tell. The child's eyes were closed, but, thanks to the technology, Raiden could ensure himself that he was still among the living.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, the soldier examined George's new cybernetic parts. He now possessed a robotic arm and abdomen that were as white as the room in which they existed. The metal was made to look even paler against its wearer's coffee-colored skin. The child wore no shirt and was now clad in pale blue scrub pants.

To Raiden's relief, George's body still seemed to be organic from the navel down and the collar up. No matter how "cool" George thought being a cyborg was…Raiden would never have wished such a fate, even one as simple as a partial transformation, upon him.

Raiden halted next to the bed, gazing down upon George's face. He was gratified to see that his ebony hair had been scrubbed free of blood. His skin was also clean, the only signs of his ever being in a deadly situation being his metallic body parts.

Raiden studied George closely. His breathing was light, but not slow enough to indicate deep sleep. Perhaps he could be roused…

"George…" he said softly.

No response.

"George," Raiden called a bit louder. He placed a hand on George's human shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

The child's eyelashes fluttered. Then…his obsidian eyes gradually eased open. They were bleary at first, clearly fighting the clutches of sleep. George blinked a few times…and his eyes went wide. "Where am I?" was written clearly upon his young face. Blanched with fear, George tried to sit up. Raiden, however, kept a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's all right," he murmured soothingly to the eleven-year-old. "You're safe. A friend of mine is taking care of you."

Geoge looked sleepily blank for a moment. When he realized who was speaking to him, however, his dusky face lit up.

"Ah…mi ninja bruddah," he smiled, speaking in his usual broken English. "Wha…did dat skunt kill us both?"

The cyborg chuckled softly and shook his head. "No, kiddo. We're not dead. I managed to get you here in time to save you after…what happened."

A lump formed in Raiden's throat. He could scarcely bare to reiterate events to the bright, trusting child. George, on the other hand, grinned widely.

"Den you got 'em! Nice work, mi friend!" he then frowned in perplexity. "But…how? I saw ya sword…den everything went black. Did ya miss mi?"

The choking lump waxed larger. Raiden dropped his eyes, unable to look into George's. His face was burning. "No, George, I…I didn't miss…"

"Den…how…?"

Face contorted with confusion, George glanced down at his feet. He froze. The blonde soldier winced. Eyes round, George studied his cybernetic abdomen. He followed the metal upward to look upon his shiny new arm.

Raiden squeezed his eyes shut. He awaited a response of despair. But, true to his form, the Guyanese boy reacted in the exact opposite manner.

"Cowabunga!" he cried joyously, nearly leaping from the cot. "Now mi a ninja too!"

The sudden movement was quickly protested by the after effects of the anesthetic drugs. George's eyelids drooped. He started to fall off the bed. Fortunately, Raiden caught his upper arms. He lay him back down, feeling guilt rack his system. Opposite as it may have seemed…he knew he would have felt better if George had responded with some sort of regret at his current state. Raiden didn't like being commended for permanently removing some of the youth's humanity.

Peering at up at him through half-lidded eyes, George smiled drowsily. "Don't you worry 'bout mi, nah," he said. "You save mi life…dat is what matters."

The elder cyborg gazed into his young face. He was somewhat awed. Even while half-delirious, George's child intuition had sensed Raiden's remorse.

Heart twisting, Raiden placed his metal hand on George's head. His dark hair practically blended with the black metal. "I'm so sorry, George…" he whispered, hanging in head low. "If there had been another way, I swear I…I would have…"

"You did da right ting…" George assured him.

The boy's eyes dragged shut. Raiden peered sadly at his peaceful, contented face. George sounded sure of himself. There were no doubts in his mind. But…his "hero" still saw shades of grey.

Raiden's own eyes closed. If he relaxed…let reality all but depart from his brain…he could almost pretend that it was his own little one's spiky hair beneath his palm.

"John…" he murmured, then caught himself. "I-I mean George…I…"

But the child did not answer. He had fallen back into slumber, still smiling tranquilly. The cyborg smiled fondly down at George. He swept a few black locks away from George's face, his heart longing for his own son.

Raiden glanced at that snow-colored arm again. Gradually…the smile slid from his face, replaced by hardness. No matter how he looked at it…the truth was plain. This was World Marshal's fault. They were the ones trafficking children like this. They had to be stopped. That much stood out in distinct shades of black and white.

"I'll stop them…" the soldier murmured to no one in particular. "…without Maverick's help. I'll bring them down on my own."

Turning, Raiden headed for the door. His eye flashed a dangerous crimson. Electricity crackled across his metallic form. It was time for a little revengeance.

**X**

**The moment George introduced himself I imagined that Raiden was thinking of his little boy… Anyways, hope you liked and please review :D! Please no flames. Oh, by the way, Doktor's line "Verzeihung" means "pardon" in German (as in "pardon me"). **

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**


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